5 more minutes

poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke

The fickle finger of fate on little cat feet
made me late and snared me in my sheets

eyes squint shut against the morning light
i grip my pillow tight
and the first thought of the day

is to retreat
back into sleep
perchance to dream
of coleridge and keats

and meadows in morning
and high castle walls

of rain through autumn leaves
of simple things

frog and dragonfly serenade
brooks babbling into twilight
springs tranquil silver flow
foot steps receding in foam
in golden summer sunset

on the crest
i roll out of bed

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